Then, as much in mercy as for anything else, Dick Prescott
dropped his left against the yearling's jawbone.
There was a crash as the dazed man went to the floor.
Instantly Mr. Jennison's voice rose, counting:
"One, two, three, four--"
"Take the full count, Spurdy," advised Kramer, bending forward
over his principal.
"--eight, nine, ten!" gasped out the timekeeper.
Mr. Spurlock had shown no sign of rising. In fact, he was still
unconscious.
"I award the fight to Mr. Prescott," called the cool, exact tones of
Mr. Edward.
Greg could have let out a whoop and danced a war-dance, but in
the presence of upper class men this plebe had to restrain himself.
Anstey's eyes flashed, but otherwise the Virginian bore himself
modestly.
"Carry Mr. Spurlock down to the door. Then summon
stretcher-bearers from the hospital," directed Mr. Edwards.
It was Yearling Devine who sprang to obey this direction.
Now Dick spoke, ever so quietly.
"Mr. Kramer, I understood that you did me the honor to call me
out."
"Eh?" muttered that other yearling. "Oh, yes; so I did. Whenever
you're ready, mister!"
"If Mr.
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